


Beauty's Daughter

by Melina



Series: Stanzas for Music [1]
Category: Highlander, The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Early Work, F/M, First Time, Romance, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-01-03
Updated: 1998-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 00:44:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melina/pseuds/Melina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't something either of them were looking for.  Or at least they thought so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beauty's Daughter

**Author's Note:**

> In terms of timeline, this is set after "Emily" on The X-Files and after "Justice" on Highlander. It's set in 1998, even though we "lost" a year on Highlander after "Archangel"...call it dramatic license.
> 
> I wrote this a really, really long time ago. Yes, that's a warning :)

_ March, 1998  
Washington, D.C._

Dr. Adam Pierson leaned back in his oversized chair, put his feet up on the credenza, and smiled as he gazed out the window. He loved Washington D.C.; he loved Georgetown, and he loved the tiny office to which a teaching fellow on a temporary contract was relegated. He even loved the wintry weather.

Methos had been in the states for about seven months. After the horrible events in Paris, he’d spent months helping Joe to try to track down MacLeod, and had come close to burnout in the process. When the offer of a teaching fellowship arose through an old Watcher contact, he’d jumped at it. Joe had been understanding, but Methos felt guilty about leaving him in the lurch nonetheless. "Go, Methos," Joe had insisted. "We’re no closer to finding him now than we were six months ago. You need to get away...I’ve lost enough friends already."

Methos had flinched at that; he hoped with all his heart that wherever MacLeod was, he was alive with his head firmly attached to his shoulders. But he had taken Joe’s advice and left for the states, keeping in touch with Paris regularly. He was relieved beyond description when MacLeod resurfaced; he had almost dropped everything to join him in Paris, but Joe had counseled that MacLeod wouldn’t be able to bear it if he placed another friend in danger. Only MacLeod could face this demon, and he had to do it alone. He had; and MacLeod, as always, had won. Oddly, Methos had somehow known that the battle was over, even before Joe had called him with the news.

They had spoken on the phone several times since then. MacLeod seemed different, but he also seemed calm, and if not happy, at peace. He and Joe were scheduled to join him for a holiday in a few weeks’ time--MacLeod wanted to fly in from Paris to attend a special exhibition on swords and ancient weaponry at the Smithsonian, and Joe had decided to join them from Seacouver. Methos was looking forward to seeing both of them, and wondered absently whether Joe could track down Amanda and talk her into joining them for a few days.

Methos shook himself out of his reverie and looked around the office once again. He really did love it here. A teaching job had been the perfect medicine for him after all the pain and upheaval of the past few years. He had a full course load, leaving little time for research. And for now, that was just fine with him; he’d spent too many years in the Watcher library to miss it, at least for awhile.

Besides, he was needed as a teacher--there just weren’t that many specialists on Mycenean, Minoan and other pre-Hellenic civilizations around these days. In addition to teaching undergraduate and graduate history courses, the Classical Languages department was borrowing him to teach ancient Greek and Coptic. The students were bright and challenging, the city was bustling with life, and he even found himself enjoying the camaraderie of Washington’s large and diverse academic community. Mercifully, he had not met another Immortal during his entire stay. Yes, he thought, returning to his lecture notes on Minoan society, life was good, and he planned to enjoy every moment of it while it lasted.

~~~~~~~

Dana Scully was irritated. It was cold, she had work to do at the office, and she was on yet another harebrained wild goose chase courtesy of Fox Mulder. She pulled her coat tighter around her small frame and glared at the figure in the driver’s seat.

"Mulder, this is the waste of time to end all wastes of time."

"Why, Scully? This might have some interesting..."

"Mulder, are you honestly going to sit there and tell me that you think the ancient Greeks were visited by extraterrestrials? After everything that’s happened this past year?"

Fox Mulder stared straight ahead at the icy road. His beliefs had been challenged by recent revelations, but this was far too intriguing to pass up. "Scully, the images in the texts they found are too interesting not to investigate. Don’t you think this is worth a little bit of time, just to look into?"

Mulder was referring to a series of drawings and accompanying text that had been found on an archeological dig in Greece some 40 years earlier, and had languished unnoticed in a London archive until a graduate student (who was also a UFO believer) had sent copies to Mulder. The pictures, originally carved into stone, _could_ be seen as resembling humans staring up at shapes that _could_ be viewed as UFO’s, and stick figures that _could_ be viewed as aliens looming over the human-shaped figures.

Scully sighed. "Mulder, no. You’re talking about an ancient civilization that worshipped all kinds of gods and goddesses. Those pictures are probably just representations of that."

Mulder shrugged. "Maybe. That’s why we need the text translated."

"Didn’t anyone bother doing that when they first discovered this stuff in the 50s?" She knew there was no talking Mulder out of an idea once he got it in his head, but that didn’t make her any less irritated. She should have told Mulder to go see this professor by himself.

"Apparently not, or else the translation’s been lost. The student who found this stuff said the archive from that dig was very disorganized and some of the materials were lost in a warehouse fire about 20 years ago."

"You would think that if the original translation spoke of extraterrestrials, Mulder, we would have heard it before now.... Where do these UFO nuts find you anyway? Did you take out an ad in the yellow pages? Put up a web site? What?" Her voice was uncharacteristically sarcastic.

Mulder didn’t answer as he pulled into the Georgetown University parking lot. Scully got out of the car and slammed the door a little too hard, ignoring Mulder’s sideways glance. She put her cold hands deep into her pockets and trudged toward the building. She was not looking forward to having yet another academic think that she and her partner were complete morons.

~~~~~~~

"Come in," Methos sang cheerfully as he heard the knock on his door, turning slowly away from the window and looking up from his notes. His eyes found a man and a woman in his doorway, but he barely noticed the man as his gaze focused on the woman. They had never met, but she seemed familiar to him somehow. His breath caught as his eyes met hers; she had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. Full of power and grace; yet also profoundly sad. She was mortal, Methos knew--but an old soul.

"Dr. Pierson? I’m Special Agent Fox Mulder, FBI...my partner, Special Agent Dana Scully. I called you this morning?" Methos finally tore his eyes away from the woman and stared blankly at the handsome, lanky man. "About the text from the Crete dig?"

Methos finally recovered himself. "Ah yes...sit down, sit down. Can I get you anything? Some tea?" He gestured toward a plug-in kettle perched on the corner of the credenza. Mulder was about to decline, but Scully spoke first. "I’d love tea, thank you." Mulder noticed that her voice had lost the irritation that had been so prevalent in the car.

Methos twisted his chair around and went about filling the kettle from a jug of bottled water and plugging it in. "So...how can a boring old professor assist the FBI?" he inquired, his voice openly curious. The kettle whistled, and Methos pulled a "Go Hoyas" mug off a shelf, dropped in a tea bag and poured water into it.

"We were hoping that you could take a look at this text and give us a translation..." Mulder started to explain.

Methos half-listened as he reached across the desk to hand the mug to Scully. Their fingers brushed briefly, and it took all his self-control to keep his face placid as a charge of electricity surged through him. Scully set the mug onto the desk and dropped her eyes. Her hands were no longer cold. In fact, her entire body was flushed with warmth.

Mulder glanced from one of them to another, the corner of his lip raising briefly in a smirk. "Dr. Pierson?"

He jerked his eyes back to the tall FBI agent. "What? Oh yes. Sorry." He took the text from Mulder and glanced over the pages briefly, trying to concentrate. "Okay. This is a form of ancient Greek, written before the Hellenic city-states like Athens and Sparta came to power. It’s a type of dialect, and I’ll be happy to translate it for you, but it will take a few hours. Can I get back to you in a day or so?"

"Sure, that would be great." He started to rise. Scully took a few more sips of tea and stood also.

Methos tried to keep her from leaving for a few moments longer. "Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?"

Mulder answered, "Well...not really, but your translation would be helpful." He handed Methos a card. "We appreciate your help, Dr. Pierson."

He stood. "No trouble at all," he replied, shaking Mulder’s hand first, and then Scully’s.

"Thank you for the tea," she said quietly.

He was prepared for the flush of heat this time as their hands met, but it still shook him to the depths of his being. "My pleasure...I’ll call you in a day or so." They departed, and Methos sunk back into his chair, staring at a half-empty mug of rapidly cooling Earl Grey, and thinking about a pair of clear, ageless, liquid blue eyes.

~~~~~~~

Dana Scully pulled on her gloves again as she walked out the door, although she no longer needed them. She was now a little too warm, in fact. She pulled the gloves off and shoved them into her pockets.

"Not too cold for you anymore, Scully?" She didn’t need to look at Mulder’s face to see the smirk there.

"Huh?" She replied absently. Scully had never before felt such an intense attraction to someone upon a first encounter. She felt like she knew Adam Pierson already, yet she was sure she had never met him--she would have remembered.

"The good doctor. Nothing like a little bit of chemistry to warm you up on a chilly March day."

"Mulder, I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Mulder came around to her side first and opened the car door. He looked at her as he held it open. "Yeah, right."

~~~~~~~

She leaned across the desk and picked up the phone. "Scully."

There was a pause on the other end of the line before the voice replied, "Agent Scully? Hello. This is Adam Pierson...from Georgetown? I thought this was Agent Mulder’s line..." _He sounds nervous_, she thought, swallowing her own emotions.

Her voice softened from the businesslike tone she had employed when answering. "It is. He’s stepped out...are you calling about the translation?"

"Yes, it’s all finished. I can fax a copy over if you like."

"We’d appreciate that...what was the text about, if it wouldn’t take too long to describe?"

"Oh, not at all. It describes a ritual ceremony for one of the mother-goddesses worshiped during that period, that was held on a mountaintop each year about the time of the vernal equinox. You know, spring." His voice steadied a bit as he discussed something he knew well. "The images depict the evil spirits they believed were released by the ritual. Sort of a cleansing before planting season."

_So much for Mulder’s Greek aliens_, she thought smugly. She sounded satisfied as she said, "That’s what I expected. We really appreciate your time, Dr. Pierson."

"It was no problem at all, pleased to be able to help..." His voice trailed off, as if the person on the other end was trying to make a decision. "Agent Scully, would you like to have lunch with me sometime?" The words were quiet and self-assured; but the tone was apprehensive, as if he was certain she would decline.

For the first time in a very long while, Dana Katherine Scully responded without thinking, following instincts instead of logic. "Dr. Pierson, I’d very much like to have lunch with you."

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end, and then a rush of words suggesting a time and place followed. She agreed, and they rang off, both commenting that they looked forward to lunch. She put the phone back in its government-issue cradle and stared at it for a moment, still surprised at how quickly she had accepted the invitation. An amused voice from behind her back commented, "No chemistry, huh?"

She turned to see her partner slouched in the doorway. "Sit down, Mulder. Let me tell you about your Greek aliens."

~~~~~~~

He hadn’t been so nervous about a first date in decades. No, centuries. Maybe longer. Asking a woman out always made him apprehensive, but once the invitation was accepted, his confidence usually kicked in. Not this time. He didn’t know why, but this first date was very important to him. All Methos knew for certain was that he wanted everything to be perfect.

He’d suggested a small, intimate French restaurant in Georgetown, near the university and his apartment, and he’d planned to arrive a few minutes early. As he sauntered down the street, he saw he wasn’t the only one with that idea. Dana Scully was waiting for him in front of the restaurant.

"Agent Scully! I hope I’m not late..." he stammered.

She smiled at him. "You’re not late, I’m a little early. And please call me Dana."

He smiled back and relaxed. "Dana. I’m Adam." He paused a moment, just looking into her eyes, and she met his gaze and smiled back into his. Finally, he spoke again. "Shall we, then?" He opened the door for her.

"M’sieu Adam!" A cheerfully rotund middle-aged woman with graying hair emerged from behind the hostess stand. She took Methos’ hands in hers and kissed him on both cheeks, chattering all the while. "Comment ca va, mon cher?"

He smiled. "Je suis tres bien, Mme. Alexandre, tres bien. Vous et M. Alexandre?"

"Nous sommes bien aussi, merci!" Madame Alexandre finally looked at Dana, and spoke again in French. "And who is your friend, Adam?" she asked suggestively.

He gave her a cautioning look, then answered. "Madame Alexandre, allow me to present Ms. Dana Scully."

Dana shook hands with the woman. "Pleased to meet you," she said.

Mme. Alexandre answered with typical Gallic enthusiasm, "Ah, non, mon chere, it is my pleasure to meet you! We are always pleased to meet friends of M’sieu Adam!" she gushed.

Methos intervened. "Do you have a table for us, by chance?

After protesting that she _always_ had a table for M’sieu Adam, Mme. Alexandre led them to a table in the corner of the small restaurant. She handed them menus, squeezing Methos’ hand again before she left them.

Methos smiled at Dana. "Mr. and Mrs. Alexandre used to run a cafe in Paris when I lived there. Both of their children emigrated to the D.C. area, so they followed a few years ago. They’ve sort of adopted me since I’ve been here."

Dana nodded. "I was wondering if you’d lived there...your French seems excellent."

Methos shrugged. "Enough to get by...learning French is mandatory if you’re going to spend any amount of time there, and I spent some of my university and dissertation time doing research in Paris."

This led to a discussion of their relative backgrounds, briefly interrupted when the waiter came to take their order. Methos gave Dana Adam Pierson’s background, loathe to lie to her but seeing no alternative. She told him about medical school and her decision to join the FBI.

"That was a brave decision, Dana," Methos said.

She shrugged. "It just seemed right. It’s been interesting, that’s for sure."

He smiled. "I can bet. Much more interesting than a history teacher’s life, I’m sure!"

Dana returned his smile. Their food arrived, and they chatted over the meal. For relative strangers, the conversation, and even the silences, were surprisingly easy. Dana hadn’t met someone she’d felt so comfortable around in a long while. Methos, for his part, was charmed and thrilled by her intelligence, her grace, her smile, and most of all, the soul reflected in her blue eyes.

Nearly two hours later, after a prolonged farewell to Mme. Alexandre, they stepped outside into the brisk air. Dana thanked him for lunch. Methos said, "Oh, it was my pleasure, absolutely." He glanced at his watch. "Hmm, that was sort of a long lunch, though. I hope I haven’t gotten you in trouble or anything."

She smiled. "Don’t worry. I have plenty of time coming."

"That’s good. I probably have a line of students outside my office waiting for help with their Greek, though. " He paused as they continued to walk towards the corner. He stopped to look at her, and she turned to meet his eyes. "Dana, may I call you again?"

Dana Scully, the scientist, the logical, the unsentimental, could have wept at that moment from the sincerity in his voice, the uncertainty in his eyes. She answered unhesitatingly. "I’d be very disappointed if you didn’t, Adam."

The delight that flooded Methos’ heart could have powered the eastern seaboard for a month. He took her hand, squeezing it for a moment, and then pressed it to his lips, kissing her hand without breaking eye contact, and finally squeezing it again. "Until then, Dana."

"Until then, Adam." She smiled at him again and turned to go, and he kept watching her as she moved across the street towards her car. He was finally rewarded with a quick glance and shy grin over her shoulder, red hair sweeping across her face as she turned.

~~~~~~~

Two days later, Methos and Dana slowly strolled back toward Dana’s apartment after a late movie. The night air was downright chilly, but neither of them seemed to notice. They were still chatting about the film when the reached Dana’s building.

Methos walked with her as far as her door. She hesitated, and then looked up at him. "Would you like to come in for coffee, Adam?"

Methos smiled at her. He wanted more than anything to come in, but he was also determined not to push too far too fast. She had enormous strength of will and courage, but he also sensed that Dana Scully was one of the most vulnerable people he had ever met, and he refused to take advantage of that. He answered, "I have an early class, love. I’d better go." Methos took her hand in his, the steady gaze penetrating her eyes as he gently kissed her hand. He released it, then laced his fingers with hers and pulled her towards him, his eyes never leaving hers as he bent down to kiss her.

Dana’s breath caught, mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze. When their lips met, the electricity they had both felt on their first meeting resurfaced with a vengeance. Methos almost gasped, stunned at the depth of connection he felt with this woman from a mere brush of lips. Not wanting to release their interlocked fingers, he wrapped his other arm around her neck, pulling her tighter and deepening the kiss. She slackened in his arms as their tongues met for the first time, and he gently pressed her against the doorframe, supporting her as he slowly, gently explored her mouth. For what seemed an eternity they stood outside Dana’s apartment, each stunned by the intensity of the feelings the kiss evoked and barely managing to contain their growing desire.

Methos finally broke the kiss, still holding her tightly. He felt her shaking slightly beneath him, and his reaction to that was almost as intense as the kiss itself. Finally, calling upon five thousand years of strength, he released her, holding her smaller hands in his and squeezing them gently. He looked into her eyes again. "Good night, Dana. I’ll see you soon." He kissed her forehead with a tenderness that made her shiver once more. He took the keys from her hand, unlocked the door and pushed it open.

She finally regained enough composure to wish him good night, slip inside, and shut and lock the door behind her. She slouched against it, her feelings a jumble of deep pleasure and fear at the vulnerability of emotionally opening herself to this man.

Outside, Methos waited until he heard the lock in the door, took a deep breath to compose himself, and went back outside into the chilly night. He didn’t notice the cold.

~~~~~~~

The next two weeks passed quickly in the bliss of a new romance. Dana and Adam explored Washington, Dana mostly acting as tour guide to the new resident. Mercifully, her work was routine and didn’t call her out of town; he arranged his schedule to accommodate her off hours. They visited museums and monuments, shared lunches and dinners at cafes and small restaurants, watched movies and listened to concerts.

Methos felt a change in himself as he spent time with Dana. His emotional barriers, so practiced and certain, seemed to melt away around her. He hadn’t even felt this way with Alexa. His relationship with her had been special, all the more because he knew it was fleeting, and he had spent most of their time together just seeing the world through her eyes and trying to make her happy. With Dana, the dynamic was completely different. They were alike in so many ways--he couldn’t recall the last time he felt so comfortable around another person. He felt more open to everything because of Dana--the whole world seemed to matter more to him, just because she was a part of it.

Dana Scully had made a decision. If she had learned anything in the last two years, it was that life is too short to waste. She loved spending time with Adam, she loved how he made her laugh, really laugh, and she loved that he made her feel beautiful and feminine. Adam made her forget, at least for a little while, the pain and loss that had been her constant companions in recent years. His kisses made her tremble like a high school freshman, his words made her feel precious and special. She forced herself to push away the fear of rejection and loss that had clouded every relationship she’d ever had. With him, Special Agent Scully, doctor of medicine, gave way to Dana, friend and companion, and hopefully, soon, lover.

~~~~~~~

Fox Mulder had been accused of being oblivious once or twice before, but he would have to have been blind, deaf, and dumb not to notice the new man in Scully’s life. It wasn’t just the obvious, either, like the quick smile when she read a phone message slip or the near-constant presence of flowers on her desk. It was obvious in everything about her, from her somewhat softer wardrobe choices to her quiet pleasure in everyday life. Mulder was happy for her. God knew she deserved it after everything she’d been through.

He wasn’t jealous; he was just concerned for her well-being, he told himself as he flipped through a manila folder on his desk. A standard background check was no big deal, and it was worth it to know that his partner was keeping company with an okay guy.

He scanned the report. Pierson, Adam. Born: January 1, 1965, Rudin, Wales, United Kingdom. Orphaned at the age of two when his parents were killed in a plane crash, no family, raised in a church orphanage that closed its doors in 1980. Won an academic scholarship to boarding school in Geneva, Switzerland; undergraduate work at Aidans at Durham, graduate studies at the University of Paris. At least reading fluency in--_Jesus_, he thought--eleven languages. Dissertation on the political and sociological structure of Minoan civilization. Did a research fellowship with a private organization in Paris before coming to Georgetown. No health problems--no hospital records anywhere since his birth. Clean credit, no student loans. No criminal record.

Mulder put the file down, leaned back in his chair and reached for his coffee mug. The guy seemed okay. Everything checked out all right. Mulder tried to push the thought away that it was a little _too_ all right. Almost too good to be true.

~~~~~~~

Another item to add to the list of things that Methos loved about Washington was his apartment. He had a two-year sublease on the second floor of a brownstone duplex owned by a Georgetown history professor on sabbatical. Although it was divided into separate rooms, in many ways it reminded him of MacLeod’s Seacouver loft. The materials were natural, the ceilings were high and supported by wooden rafters, and skylights lent a bright and airy feeling. The rooms were designed to create a homey, intimate feel.

At the moment, Dana and Methos were stretched out on the thick burgundy rug that covered the hardwood floor in the living room. A fire was blazing in the fireplace, and they sat together gazing at it. Dana was drinking a glass of red wine. Methos sipped from a bottle of beer, his back propped against the sofa, supporting Dana as she rested against his chest.

It was late on a snowy Friday afternoon. Dana had an appointment that morning and decided not to go to work afterwards; when she’d called, Methos had cancelled his office hours.

"You’re in a pensive mood, love." His voice was almost a whisper as he stroked her hair gently.

"Yeah, I guess my appointment this morning was a bit of a reality check."

He paused for a moment, trying not to sound too concerned. "Want to tell me about it?"

She slid around in his arms to meet his eyes. "I went to the doctor this morning, Adam."

"Is everything okay?" There was no shielding the concern now, not in his eyes or from his voice.

"Yes, everything’s fine, for now, anyway." She took a breath. "I had cancer last year, Adam. It’s been in remission for months and there’s a very good chance it will stay that way...but I wanted you to know."

Methos pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. "I’m glad it was good news, Dana. Very glad." He closed his eyes, trying with all his might not to think of Alexa.

_"Why do you want to go out with me?" Alexa asked._ _"Because...the alternative is unthinkable."_

_"She’s dying, Adam." Joe said quietly._

He pictured Alexa’s final hours in that hospital bed in Geneva, gasping for each breath, unable to speak, able to communicate only with the squeeze of a hand. The thought of losing Dana the same way was almost too painful to bear. But, he resolved, she was fine, he wasn’t going to lose her. _That’s a lie, old man_, he thought. _Of course you will lose her_. _The only question is when...but sacrificing the time you have with her because you will eventually lose her makes no sense, none at all._

She pulled away and looked up at him. "Are you sure you’re okay with this? Do you have any questions or anything?"

"Dr. Scully, I presume." He smiled, took her chin in his hand and leaned down to kiss her softly on the lips. "Dana, it’s so like you to worry about me when you’re the one who has to face this every day...please, don’t worry about me. I’m stronger than I look. And you...you’re very brave, you know."

She tried to blink away tears that clouded her view of his steady, accepting gaze. Why was she reacting like this? What had she expected, that he would push her away, reject her because of her illness? She knew him better than that. He kissed her face, tasting her tears and pulling her close against him. As if reading her mind, he said, "Dana, whatever the future holds, we can’t control it, only deal with it once it arrives. Besides, the present is too precious to sacrifice to the future."

He held her, tight and close, until she dozed off. Gently, he slipped from her arms, covered her with a throw blanket and went into the kitchen to prepare dinner_. Are you okay with this, old man?_ An inner voice queried him about Dana’s revelation, questioning whether it was time to put his emotional barriers back in place. _Yes, I’m okay with it,_ he answered. The voice responded:_ But will she be okay with you if? when? she learns your secrets? How long do you think you can keep the truth from her?_ For that, he had no answer, and he pushed the troubling thought away.

An hour later, he woke her, they ate, and after tidying the kitchen returned to the rug to snuggle and kiss. Over the weeks, the kisses had grown in intensity_, if that were possible_, Methos thought. Since their first kiss, both of them had decided, without words, that despite the intensity they were content to deepen their physical relationship slowly, enjoying the anticipation. Never in his life had he drawn such pleasure from a kiss, he reflected, as he traced his tongue around her lips, slowly parting them_. This is pure heaven_, Methos thought, _perfection on earth_.

Then he felt the buzz that signaled the presence of another Immortal nearby.

~~~~~~~

Methos quickly pulled away from Dana, looking up and towards the door. She looked at him, her eyes filling with concern. "What’s wrong, Adam?"

The urge to grab his sword was nearly overwhelming. "Uh, nothing love. I just thought I heard something." As if timed, there was a brisk knock at the door.

She relaxed. "Well, I guess you did." Methos got to his feet and Dana moved from the floor to the sofa.

Methos felt true fear as he walked towards the door. Not for himself, but for Dana. If some nasty Immortal had tracked him, he had a major problem on his hands. "Who is it?" He asked, attempting to keep the sickening panic he felt out of his voice.

"Candygram," came the amused and muffled response from a familiar baritone voice. He yanked the door open to find Duncan MacLeod and Joe Dawson grinning at him.

"Dear God!" Methos exclaimed. "I forgot that you two were arriving today." Handshakes and grins were exchanged. "Come in, come in." His visitors trooped into the living room.

"Wow, nice place, Me...Adam," said Joe Dawson, his eyes alighting on Dana Scully.

"Ah, Joe Dawson, Duncan MacLeod, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Dana Scully."

Joe and Dana shook hands, then Duncan took Dana’s hand and kissed it gently. "Charmed, I’m sure," he said with a smile, as Methos tried to ignore the twinge of jealousy that surged through him.

Methos got Joe seated, and asked MacLeod for his help in the kitchen as Joe and Dana began chatting. "She’s beautiful, Methos," Mac said as soon as they were out of earshot. "A colleague?" he asked with a bit of hope in his voice.

Methos snatched glasses and a bottle of Scotch from a cabinet as he growled, "No, MacLeod, much more than just a colleague." His message was loud and clear.

Mac grinned from ear to ear. "You, Methos, jealous? This is a brand new experience."

"Knock it off, MacLeod, it’s not funny." Methos couldn’t keep the grin from his face. Okay, it was funny. "Sorry." He paused and smiled at MacLeod. "It’s good to see you, Mac. I’m sorry I forgot you were coming."

"Hey, no problem, if Dana was on my sofa I’d have forgotten too." With that, Mac carried a plate of snacks back to the living room as Methos followed.

The next few hours were spent chatting and catching up, the visitors learning about Dana and she about them...well, learning everything about them that could be disclosed without revealing their secrets. Finally, Dana said, "I’d better be getting home...I have to go into the office for a few hours in the morning to catch up on some paperwork." After Joe and MacLeod wished her a good night, Methos walked Dana out to her car.

Methos kissed her warmly. "I’m sorry, love. I managed to completely forget they were coming for a visit. I guess I’ve been distracted lately," he smiled at her.

She returned the smile warmly. "It’s fine, Adam, I like your friends." They kissed again and made plans to talk the next day.

Methos made his way back upstairs to the expected harassment of his two friends. "She’s incredible, Methos," Joe said, slipping back into using his real name. "You’ve really hit the jackpot this time." MacLeod just smiled.

"Yes, I have," Methos answered. "But has she?"

"What do you mean, Methos?" Mac said.

He shrugged. "I dunno...when I sensed you earlier and didn’t know it was you, it just struck me square in the forehead how this whole thing could blow up at any minute."

"So what’s new about that?" Mac rejoined.

"Nothing, I guess. It just seems more important now." He shrugged again, looking at his feet and burying his hands deep inside his pockets.

The friends stayed up awhile longer, but both the visitors were tired and jet-lagged. Methos settled Joe into the guest room and MacLeod onto the fold-out sofa in the study. "Want to run in the morning, Methos?" Mac asked.

Methos groaned. "God, MacLeod, why did I invite you here again?"

Mac grinned. "To help you do what’s good for you, old man."

~~~~~~~

"Good morning, sunshine."

A groan, then a voice from beneath a bundle of sheets and quilts grumbled, "That’s a good way to lose your head, MacLeod."

"C’mon, sleepyhead, let’s get cracking."

Another grumble. "Five minutes, damn your bloody stubborn Scottish hide."

MacLeod grinned and made his way into the living room, stretching his muscular frame, warming up. In deference to the decidedly chilly weather, he wore a hooded sweatshirt over a turtleneck. Moving slowly to loosen cold muscles, he began the tai chi form as his warmup.

A few minutes later, Methos joined him, similarly clad, and no more cheerful than he’d been upon waking. He began stretching, mumbling irritably to himself in a language MacLeod did not recognize.

MacLeod smiled. "That’s what I love about you, Methos. You’re such a morning person."

Methos shot him a look. "How did I let you talk me into this?"

"You knew I would pester you about it until you gave in."

"Ah. Yes, that was it."

A few minutes later, both were suitably warmed up and they emerged from the warm building into the frigid late March air. MacLeod set a brutal pace, and Methos struggled to keep up. After about two miles he gave up and slowed, bending over to catch his breath. "That’s it, Mac. Go on, I’ll meet you back at the brownstone."

MacLeod slowed and jogged back to the point where his friend stood wheezing. "Maybe you need to work out a little more, Methos," he teased. "Get some exercise other than the horizontal variety."

Methos looked up, glared at him, straightened and started walking. MacLeod could be so juvenile at times. "Mac, I’m far, far, far, too old for locker room talk." Mac didn’t answer. "Besides, we aren’t...Dana and I haven’t..."

"Oh." Mac was nonplussed. "Sorry. You two just seemed so comfortable with each other, it didn’t occur to me that you might not be sleeping together, I guess."

_No, I don’t suppose that idea would occur to you, Don Juan of the Scottish Highlands._ Methos restrained himself from voicing the retort and shrugged. "It’s not that either of us isn’t willing, at least if I can still read a woman’s body language, that’s not the issue. We’re just taking it slow."

"Have you considered telling her?"

"Telling her what, MacLeod? Telling her that I’m Immortal or telling her about my sordid past? Yes and yes. For weeks. Since our first date."

They continued walking. "But you haven’t."

"No, I haven’t."

"What’s stopping you?"

Methos shrugged noncommittally. "This stuff she does for the FBI. Mac, she spends a good part of her time looking into paranormal phenomena and other bizarre happenings...what if we’re in a case file somewhere? I don’t want to create a problem for her."

"Paranormal phenomena? At the FBI? Things have sure changed since Hoover’s day." Methos shrugged again. MacLeod stopped and looked at his ancient friend. "Anyway, her work’s not the reason you haven’t told her, Methos."

"Oh?" The melodic voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Then what _is_ the reason, MacLeod?"

"You’re afraid. Afraid that she’ll reject you, or be frightened of you." He paused, the memories surfacing. "I remember how I felt when I finally told Tessa..."

"Yes, and you were together how long before you told her?"

MacLeod frowned. "Two years."

"And you’re pestering me to tell Dana after two weeks? Glass houses, MacLeod."

"Methos, I can tell how you feel about this woman. Tessa understood why I waited so long to tell her. Anne didn’t, and it ruined our relationship."

"You and Anne weren’t meant to be, Mac. Maybe that’s why you hesitated."

MacLeod started walking again. "Maybe we weren’t, Methos, but that’s not why I didn’t tell her. I was trying to protect her, and myself, not just physically but emotionally. You’re trying to do the same thing with Dana, and it won’t work for you anymore than it did for me. Anne was hurt that it took so long for me to tell her, and our relationship couldn’t recover from the lack of trust."

"Ah, yes. Trust." He ignored Mac’s sideways glance, unsure exactly where their own relationship stood in that department.

~~~~~~~

"Morning, Scully." Mulder came in carrying two cups of coffee.

She was somewhat startled. "Mulder. I didn’t expect to see you here today."

"Nice to see you too."

"Sorry...you know what I mean."

"Yeah." He paused, handing her a cup of coffee, and she smiled her thanks as she took it from him. "I was a little worried when you didn’t come back after your doctor appointment yesterday."

She sighed. "God, Mulder, I’m sorry, I should have called you. Everything’s fine. I just decided to take the rest of the day."

"Yeah, that’s what I figured, I didn’t want to bug you on the cell phone." He paused, then asked casually, "So, what did you do on Dana Scully’s Day Off?"

She smiled briefly, the corner of her lip raising just a tad and then returning to neutral. "Spent it with Adam. Nothing special, just a quiet afternoon. He had some friends arrive in town last night, and we spent the evening visiting with them."

"You’ve been spending a lot of time together." _What a talent for stating the obvious, Mulder, _he thought.

"Yes, we have." Her voice was quiet, but her eyes met his, challenging him to question or criticize.

Instead, he smiled, a sincere smile instead of his usual smarmy grin. "I’m happy for you, Scully. Really. I hope it works out."

She smiled back. "So do I, Mulder. So do I."

~~~~~~~

Duncan and Methos were tripping over each other in the kitchen, fixing dinner. In addition to preparing shrimp, fettuccini, salad and bread, they were still arguing over the merits of the various weapons they had seen that afternoon at the Smithsonian’s Special Exhibition on the Weapons of War. MacLeod was expounding on the virtues of an especially beautiful seventeeth century naval cutlass.

Methos interrupted, "Piece of junk." The ancient Immortal didn’t think much of post-Renaissance European weaponry. MacLeod looked at him disdainfully, continuing to argue the point as Methos gathered dishes and went to set the table.

They would be four for dinner. Joe had left to visit a friend from his army days who lived in nearby Alexandria. When Methos had called to invite Dana, he’d suggested that she ask her partner to join them.

"Mulder? Are you sure, Adam?"

"Yeah, why not, Dana? He’s an important person in your life and he sounds vaguely suspicious of my evil intentions every time I get him on the phone, so why not let him get to know me a bit better? Besides, with MacLeod here it’s not going to be a very romantic evening anyway." There was a smile in his voice as he spoke the last sentence, and after a bit more persuading, she had agreed to bring Mulder along.

Methos’ thoughts turned back to MacLeod as he arranged linens and silverware. "How’s Paris, MacLeod?"

Duncan shrugged. "Notoriously overpopulated with Immortals, as usual."

"Oh? Anything interesting happen--"

They were interrupted by the doorbell. Methos went to answer it, greeting Dana with a chaste kiss and Mulder with a handshake. He escorted them into the living room and introduced Mulder to MacLeod.

An hour later, they were seated over dinner, enjoying the fruits of the two Immortals’ earlier labor.

"This is fabulous, Adam," Dana said appreciatively as she took a bite of spicy shrimp wrapped in fettuccini.

"Ah, well, my talents in the kitchen are quite modest, but MacLeod makes feeding company something just short of a career."

MacLeod smiled at the almost-compliment. "In Scotland, feeding visitors properly is practically a sacrament."

"Ah, so that’s where you’re from." Fox Mulder noted. "I couldn’t quite place the accent."

"Well, I haven’t lived there in a very long time...there’s not much of one left."

Methos smirked in MacLeod’s direction. He wished that he had known MacLeod during his Highland barbarian days. He’d bet that the Highlander had been a whole lot less serious and much more fun.

"Did you grow up there?"

MacLeod answered, "No, not really. I was raised by an aunt in the States after my parents were killed. She’d grown up there, and she raised me with Scottish traditions."

_Another orphan_, Mulder thought. "When did you--"

"Mulder, quit being so nosy," Dana said.

MacLeod smiled at her. "It’s okay, Dana. It was a long time ago. I don’t mind talking about it."

Methos piped in, "Anybody ready for tiramisu and coffee?" He stood to begin clearing the table, and Dana gestured to MacLeod to stay seated. She rose to help Methos, as Mulder continued his quasi-interrogation of MacLeod. Methos smiled at her, contemplating how he might steal a quick kiss in the kitchen.

~~~~~~~

The visitors long departed, MacLeod and Methos sat alone in front of the blazing fireplace, sharing a bottle of cognac Mac had brought along from Paris. Joe had called; he would stay with his friend in Virginia overnight. MacLeod was uncharacteristically quiet.

"Thanks for cooking, Mac. Dana thinks you’re the best thing to walk into a kitchen since Julia Child."

He smiled. "My pleasure."

"Sorry that her partner is such a busybody."

Mac shrugged. "He’s an FBI agent, it’s in his nature to ask questions. He’s just looking out for Dana. She’s lucky to have such a good friend." His last sentence was uttered with more than casual emotion, and suddenly Methos understood his friend’s somber mood. Cooking and sharing meals with friends had become intertwined with memories of his young student.

"He’ll always be with you, Mac." The quiet words were meant literally as well as figuratively. Richie was a part of MacLeod now.

"I know, Methos." Mac took a long drink of the cognac and poured himself another snifter.

Methos’ thoughts about the events surrounding Richie’s death were still somewhat ambivalent. As devastating as that night had been, Methos had almost concluded that it was predestined. In the year before Richie died, his death at MacLeod’s hand had been foreshadowed twice. Once after the Dark Quickening, and again during MacLeod’s attempt to help his friend Warren Cochrane. Mac’s shock and horror when he learned that Cochrane had taken his student’s head in a moment of anger had been obvious and deeply felt--to the extent that Mac felt that forcing Cochrane to live with his act was a harsher punishment than killing him.

That judgment had returned to haunt MacLeod, and although the circumstances surrounding Richie’s death were different, the result was the same. The thought was disturbing. If Richie’s death was predestined, what else was, or wasn’t, meant to be?

On the other hand, Methos told himself, Richie had died because he hadn’t listened to MacLeod. He had rarely listened to his teacher, at least during the times that Methos had seen them together. The Kristin fiasco and the Methos imposter both came to mind. If Richie had listened to MacLeod on the phone that night in Paris, he might still have his head.

Methos was no closer to a conclusion than he’d been before, but he turned back to his pensive friend. He spoke softly, echoing MacLeod’s words at Alexa’s grave. "He’ll always be alive as long as you’re here to remember him."

MacLeod turned to Methos and smiled. "I know. Thanks, my friend." He changed the subject. "You have to tell Dana, Methos."

Methos tried to push away his irritation at MacLeod for raising the subject again. "Enough, MacLeod. We’ve been through this already."

"She’s a strong woman, Methos. She can protect herself, but not unless you tell her what she’s up against."

"Protecting her is my job now." _God, now I sound just like the Scottish Boy Scout himself, _he thought.

"Really? I wonder what that partner of hers would say to that."

~~~~~~~

Joe returned the next morning, and he and MacLeod spent three more days in Washington. Methos enjoyed their company, however, his time with them curtailed his time with Dana, and he had mixed feelings about their departure.

"I’ll see you in Paris, or Seacouver I guess, on my summer break," Methos said, helping them load bags and sword case into the trunk of the cab.

"Look forward to it." Joe said, taking his leave with a warm smile and a handshake before getting into the cab.

Methos looked at the Highlander. "Take care of yourself, Mac. Mind your head."

MacLeod smiled. "You too, Methos. And think about what I said."

Methos knew he was referring to Dana, and pushed away his impatience at MacLeod’s mothering. Mac’s strong urge to protect the people he cared about seemed to have increased since Richie’s death. Yet he also seemed less judgmental, more willing to step back and let his friends make their own mistakes. Methos looked at his friend, realizing that a major change in Duncan MacLeod’s psyche had occurred. "I will, Mac," he said, far more patiently than he would have in the past. The fact that Mac could change such a basic part of his nature after four hundred years gave the oldest living Immortal hope for the future. Hope for himself.

Mac reached out to clasp his arm in a warrior’s farewell, and Methos, surprised, returned the Highlander’s strong grasp. Then MacLeod got into the cab, and Methos watched thoughtfully as his friends, his closest connection to who and what he was, drove away. He stood on the curb, staring after them, as MacLeod’s presence faded from his consciousness.

~~~~~~~

"Tell me." he demanded. He resisted the urge to tickle a bare foot, instead entangling one of her feet with both of his.

"No, you’ll laugh." His feet were warm, thanks to the fire. One of them was slipping inside the cuff of her jeans to caress her calf, an oddly sensual feeling.

"I won’t, I promise." She turned around to meet his eyes, peering into the green-gold depths as if to gauge his sincerity.

Methos bit his lower lip gently, trying to keep his face serene. A late-night discussion of literature and authors in front of the fireplace had led to his question about her favorite writers.

She continued to stare, daring him to let out even a giggle. "Well, you know I loved Jose Chung’s work."

"Yes." Of course he did, the dead writer’s books were all over her apartment.

"Okay. I still think you’re going to laugh, but...my other favorites are all romantic poets. Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelly, and Byron."

Methos couldn’t keep his lip from twitching at the final name, but it wasn’t for the reason Dana thought. "Why would I think that’s funny, Dana?"

"Most people would say I don’t have an idealistic or romantic bone in my body. Scully, the scientist, the doctor, the logical one. Her partner’s the crazy idealist..."

"Most people don’t know you very well," he rejoined. He leaned into her neck, kissing her collarbone. "This, this is a very romantic bone." He moved up to her shoulder, easing the v-neck sweater she wore just an inch to the side, and placed a delicate kiss at the spot where her shoulder met her neck. "Hmm. I think I found another one." She smiled, touching his face, forgetting why she hadn’t wanted to answer his question in the first place.

Methos shifted to his side, propped himself up on one elbow, and stroked her face and hair with his other hand. Byron. The memories weren’t acutely painful anymore, more like a dull ache. Oh, how Byron would have wanted Dana! He smiled at the thought, and his old friend’s words sprang to his lips unconsciously as he continued to trace his fingers over her head, face and neck.

"There be none of Beauty’s daughters  
With a magic like thee.  
And like music on the waters  
Is thy sweet voice to me."

She looked up at him, a little surprised, very pleased. He leaned in to kiss her on the mouth, allowing their tongues to touch only briefly before he gently pulled away and spoke again.

"When, as if its sound were causing  
The charm’d ocean’s pausing,  
The waves lie still and gleaming,  
And the lull’d winds seem dreaming."

He paused again, this time taking her hand in his, kissing first the palm and then the inside of her wrist. He entwined his fingers with hers and gazed into her eyes, clear blue meeting gold-flecked green. As he continued, his voice was soft and controlled, perfectly metered and quietly lyrical.

"And the midnight moon is weaving  
Her bright chains o’er the deep.  
Whose breast is gently heaving,  
As an infant’s asleep."

He slid down off his elbow this time, their bodies level. He slipped one arm around her back as he slowly traced a line of soft kisses around the edge of her face, then moved to her left ear. She gasped softly as he traced his tongue around it, and he stopped, his voice a barely audible whisper as he spoke directly into her ear.

"So, the spirit bows before thee,  
To listen and _adore_ thee..."

His emphasis on the penultimate word was both intentional and unmistakable, and his breath caught in his throat as the verse reached its climax,

"With a full but soft emotion,  
Like the swell of summer’s ocean."

Dana Scully could no longer remain quiet or still. She slid both arms around his neck and found his mouth with hers. His seduction of her, both her soul and her body, was complete, and she wanted him, now.

Methos read her body language clearly; he tried to push back the intense desire that threatened to overwhelm him. He slid his hands down her back and under her sweater, continuing to kiss her thoroughly. She released her grasp long enough for him to pull the v-neck up and over her head, and then slid her arms around him again as he returned to her mouth, her bare arms and stomach scratching against the wool of his sweater. She eased her fingers under his sweater, disengaging their mouths long enough to pull it off.

She eased on top of him, sliding down his chest. He was enthralled by the feel of her fingers on his bare skin. His desire to lean back and enjoy the sensations at war with an equally compelling desire to watch her every move. Dana’s mouth traced a slow pattern, starting at his neck, trailing a line of kisses down his chest. Clothed, he looked lean, even thin, but without the baggy sweater Dana discovered taut muscle covered by firm, silken skin. She glanced up, hearing him gasp as she traced her mouth over his stomach. She released the snap on his jeans, then on her own.

Methos couldn’t stand it any longer. He grasped her shoulders and pulled her up next to him, plunging his tongue deep inside her mouth. His arms slid under hers, releasing the snap on her bra with a single move, and pushing the straps off her shoulders. She pulled away from him just enough so that he could slide the cursed garment off completely. Tossing it aside, he buried his face in her neck, kissing his way down her throat as she wrapped her arms around him. He rolled her onto her back as his mouth found her breasts, his already acute desire deepening as her nipples hardened beneath his tongue and fingers.

If her lungs could gather enough air, Dana would have moaned as he slid his hands between her denim-clad thighs. He pulled down the zipper and she lifted her hips slightly to help him remove her jeans, and she watched as he removed his own, her breath catching again at the evidence of his desire. Her own was growing more intense with each passing moment, and she nearly leapt out of her skin when he began to trace his fingers on the outside of her underwear as his mouth returned to her neck and breasts.

The two layers of cotton that remained between them were removed without hesitation and with a stunning economy of movement. Dana’s hand found him first, stroking taut, silken steel flesh as his own hand explored the warm, wet heat between her thighs. He continued kissing her mouth, neck and breasts, trying to push aside his own need to focus on her, totally and completely. But she could take no more of his teasing, and despite her increasingly labored breathing, managed to gasp, "Adam...please..."

He shifted between her thighs, returning to her mouth and continuing to kiss her as he entered her. The sensation was both stunningly new and somehow familiar to both of them, as if these two bodies had joined so intimately hundreds of times before. She wrapped one leg around his hip, arching her back to draw them closer together. Methos gave up any hope of maintaining control, surrendering both of them to pure sensation. He plunged deep inside of her, pulling his mouth away for a moment to push a lock of hair off her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were dilated with desire, her lips were full and swollen from his kisses. His lovely scientist was outside of her mind and experiencing completely with her body, and Methos had never in his life seen anything more beautiful.

They moved together for what seemed like an eternity, yet it was also far too brief as each moved towards the peak. He rolled them over to pull Dana on top, and slipped his fingers between her thighs to caress the tiny knot of nerves at the center of her desire. She threw her head back as she came, continuing to move with him as her spasms pushed him over the edge. He exploded inside her, arching up to meet her and clasp her body against his.

Methos gasped once more as the shudders stilled, then he gently turned them onto their sides and pulled her tightly against him. Dana was still trembling slightly, and curled herself close, her head against Methos’ throat. Methos was still trying to catch his breath as he stroked Dana’s hair, kissing the top of her head reverently.

They dozed in front of the fire for awhile, then Methos wrapped Dana in the throw blanket and carried her into the bedroom. They made love twice more before dawn broke, and as Methos faded into sleep again, he wondered how long such perfection and contentment could last.

He found out soon enough...in fact, much too soon.

~~~~~~~

Spring arrived in Washington, and Methos and Dana found their love in full bloom along with the cherry blossoms. Although the words had not been spoken aloud, neither had any doubt about the intensity of their own feelings. They spent as much time together as they could steal away from their respective responsibilities; nearly every waking hour outside of work, and most of the non-waking hours too.

Methos borrowed a cottage on the Maryland shore and spirited Dana away for the weekend. He planned to tell her the truth, at least some of it. On a warm Saturday afternoon, they took a picnic lunch out on a bluff overlooking the Chesapeake. For no particular reason, the conversation turned serious. Dana told him about Emily and Melissa, he told her about Alexa, and they cried in each other’s arms. She handled the story of Alexa’s illness and death with her usual strength, but no matter how much he tried to reassure her, Methos knew that Dana saw her own future reflected in the ghost of his dead lover. He simply couldn’t tell her about his immortality, not then. Instead, he made love to her on the deserted bluff, trying to offer with actions the reassurance his words couldn’t provide; to show her that she was alive, and vibrant, and that her body belonged to her rather than to her illness.

~~~~~~~

When their blissful spring ended prematurely, it wasn’t because of an Immortal searching for the mythical Methos, it wasn’t an old enemy seeking revenge, it wasn’t even a chance encounter leading to a challenge.

It was a green salad.

Their evening began quite normally, following the pattern they had developed in recent weeks. It was late by the time they both arrived at Methos’ apartment after their long work days, and they were collaborating in the kitchen to prepare a simple meal of salad, chicken and rice. Dana was bending over to supervise the broiling chicken in the oven, and as she backed up, she bumped into Methos, who was standing at the opposite counter busily shredding lettuce.

"Hey, be careful there, this is a dangerous business," he quipped, turning his head to kiss her. She almost giggled as she leaned into him to return the kiss. She went back to the stove, concentrating on not burning the rice, as they continued their quiet chat about the day’s events. Methos was listening to her intently when his wet fingers lost their grip on the lettuce, and the knife slipped, cutting deep into his palm. Dana turned quickly when he gasped in pain, "Bloody hell..."

He grabbed a towel to wrap around his hand, and although it rapidly soaked in blood, he could already feel the deep wound starting to heal. Dana quickly came to his side. "Adam, let me take a look..." she said, trying to take his hand in hers.

He pulled away, a little too roughly, trying to escape but trapped in the small kitchen. "Dana, it’s fine, really..."

She looked at him oddly. "Are you kidding? You might have sliced a tendon, there’s a ton of blood..."

Methos sighed inwardly, knowing that it was now or never. "Dana...let’s go sit down, and you can take a look at my hand."

She was still looking at him querulously, trying to figure out what was going on, but she nodded her assent and left the kitchen for the dining area. She sat down and looked at him. He pulled his chair next to hers, still keeping the towel wrapped tightly around his hand. Despite her confusion, her eyes looked into his with love and trust, and he wondered if he would ever see that expression again.

_You really should be better at this by now, old man,_ he thought. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Dana, there’s no way to tell you this except just to say it. I am Immortal." He removed the towel, wiping away the blood to show her his palm.

She looked up at him, stunned, taking his hand in hers and touching it, examining where the deep wound had been only a few moments earlier. She looked up again at his sincere, worried face. "No there can’t be...there must be some..."

"Dana." He knelt next to her chair, still holding her hands. "Please, listen to me. This isn’t a trick and there’s no other explanation. I was born in what is now called Greece over five thousand years ago. The civilizations I teach about...I lived in them. The languages I teach...I spoke them."

It was almost too much for Dana, her feelings were calling for one level of analysis while her scientist’s mind called for another. She had a thousand questions, but for the moment, the feelings won. "Adam...how could you not tell me this sooner?"

"Dana, please understand. I’ve just placed my life in your hands. You, of all people, more than most...if you handcuff me to the chair and call the FBI right now, I am in very serious trouble and so are people that I care about. I wanted to tell you that weekend we went to the shore, but it just didn’t seem right."

"You didn’t trust me before."

"In my heart, Dana, I’ve trusted you since the day I met you. But you don’t survive five thousand years without caution."

"I thought you said you couldn’t die..."

He explained a bit more, telling her a bit more about Immortals and about the Game. She sucked in a breath. "You’ve survived all this time by killing others of your own kind?"

_God, if only she knew._ "Dana...I don’t go looking for challenges. Not anymore, not in a long, long time. If I receive one I must answer it, that’s the nature of our existence." He was still kneeling beside her, clasping her hands and looking into her eyes, beseeching her to understand with every fiber of his being. "Dana...I’m not a monster." _Anymore_, the voice inside him chided. He ignored it. "I’m just a man, and I love you."

Her eyes jerked up to meet his. Ten minutes ago, she would have felt nothing except wholehearted joy at his final words. But now... "Adam, I need time to think about this." She stood quickly, pulling her hands away from his, and fetched her coat and bag. He followed her to the door, trying to gauge her emotional state, but he didn’t try to stop her from leaving. Dana looked at him, speaking in a quiet, neutral voice. "Whatever I decide, Adam, I won’t betray you." She turned and left.

The ache in his heart began before the door closed behind her. Methos stared at the door for awhile, then went into the kitchen. He turned off the oven and the stove, then he leaned back against the refrigerator, slowly sinking to the floor. He pulled his knees up against his chest, as if he could contain the pain by curling inside himself, and buried his face in his hands.

~~~~~~~

Dana walked for what seemed like hours through the sedate streets of Georgetown. Her mind was still a blur, confusing thoughts rushing at her on so many levels that she was unable to think through one idea before she was distracted by another.

Immortals? People who lived for 5000 years? _Impossible_, her scientific mind screamed. But was it? After all she had seen for herself in the past few years--was anything truly impossible? If she had learned anything, it was that life had an infinite capacity for change and evolution. She had seen Adam’s hand for herself. She had seen the deep cut that disappeared moments later, healing itself. Her eyes told her that he was definitely different, somehow, something special. She wasn’t being asked to accept it on--she paused as it considered the word--on faith.

The rest, though, she _was_ being asked to accept on faith. Because he could heal didn’t mean he was five thousand years old. His reasons for not telling her sooner drove her to question their whole relationship--if he didn’t trust her, what did they have together?

Yet. And yet. She did believe him, and she could not begin to fathom his life. She had suffered loss in her own life; painful, aching loss, that had, at times, threatened to consume her entire being. But she could not conceive of an existence where she outlived every thing, every person, every place she had ever known. She couldn’t begin to imagine outliving not only a trend or an era, but an entire civilization. He spoke dead languages, remembered people and events so far in the past that they were consigned to the archives of dead scholars. What kind of determination, what kind of strength, did it take for him to keep going? How difficult was it for him to emotionally invest in people, in love itself?

Love. Tears poured down her face as Dana Scully admitted to herself that she was, for the first time in her life, completely and totally in love. So much in love that her heart battled with her brain for control. Her brain told her to walk away, now. Her heart told her that nothing else mattered but the feelings they had for each other, the long-suppressed emotions that he brought to the surface. She could imagine, for the first time, spending the rest of her life with someone_. The rest of your life, not his_. Did it matter? Her heart told her that she and Adam were meant to be together; that they had a connection beyond friendship, beyond family, beyond romantic love. Her entire life, all the pain, all the loss, had pointed her toward this moment, toward this person. Could she walk away now, no matter who or what he was?

~~~~~~~

He picked up his head at the sound of the ringing phone. He didn’t want to answer it, but what if it was Dana..."Hello?"

"Adam?" A familiar, lightly accented baritone.

He sighed. "Hi Mac."

"Are you okay?"

Methos paused. "Why do you ask?"

Mac hesitated. "I’m not sure, I just had this...sense. This feeling like something was wrong."

Methos considered this, wondering again whether he and MacLeod now had some unique connection as a result of the double quickening of two ancient Immortals. Twice he had felt a similar sensation--he had felt, even before he saw, Mac’s emotional breakdown after he realized that Richie had died at his hands. And when Mac had defeated Ahriman, he had felt Mac’s peace and sense of resolution before Joe had called to tell him it was over. Perhaps they were able to sense each other’s strongest emotions? Inwardly, he shrugged. They were going to have to talk about this eventually, but he didn’t want to do it now.

"I told her, Duncan. She left."

Mac knew things were serious whenever Methos used his first name. "For good?"

"I dunno. Neither does she."

There was nothing MacLeod could say, nothing at all. "Do you want some company? I could be there by tomorrow morning."

Methos was genuinely moved by his friend’s concern, and his voice softened. "I appreciate the offer, Mac, but whatever happens, I need to be alone with it for awhile."

Another thought occurred to MacLeod. "How did she find out? Did you decide to tell her, or did one of us turn up?"

"Neither." He paused. After five millennia, he should have learned to appreciate that it was the little details of day to day life that could really screw things up. "It was a head of lettuce."

~~~~~~~

He must have dozed off around 3 a.m., after tossing and turning miserably for hours. He woke with a start when he felt a hand on his chest, his first thought to snatch his sword from its hiding place behind the bed--but there had been no sense of an Immortal’s presence. "Dana?" There was no answer. His reached up to her face, and felt the wetness of her tears. He drew her tightly into his arms. "Dana..." His face was wet now too, he was so relieved that she was actually there.

"Adam..." she said finally, struggling for words. He reached for the light, but she shook her head. He took her hand instead. "Adam. Everything in my head tells me to run, but I can’t. I don’t know why, but I can’t. I don’t want to leave you."

"Oh, Dana. I don’t want you to leave me either. I’m so sorry. I should have told you sooner. I didn’t want to hurt you." His voice was heavy with emotion, the words rushing out.

"I know that you didn’t. I understand why." His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he could see the strain, the confusion, and the love in her eyes. "I can’t even remember what my life was before, Adam. I don’t want to go back to my life without you."

"You don’t need to, Dana. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere." He reached up to kiss her face, softly and tentatively.

Surprising him, she returned the kiss with hot, wet, demanding passion, releasing the emotions of the past few hours through her mouth and tongue. She pushed him back on the bed, her hands still trembling with emotion as her fingers explored his bare chest, pinching his nipples into hard, tight centers of arousal as she bit into his neck.

Still fully dressed, Dana reached down to stroke him through his boxers, and he quickly responded to her touch, soft flesh hardening underneath her hands. She slipped her fingers underneath the elastic waistband, tugging the garment down and off as she slid down his stomach. She was overwhelmed with feeling and emotion, operating on pure instinct. Every fiber of her being demanded that she possess this man, claim him, own him as completely as she possibly could. Dana took him in her mouth, hearing him gasp out his pleasure as he tangled his fingers in her auburn hair. She licked his hard shaft, wrapping her tongue around him as completely as she could while she suckled him, adjusting her rhythm as he began to thrust inside her.

Methos was nearly incoherent, still stunned that she had returned and overwhelmed by the intensity of her emotions, which were at this moment focused completely on his groin. He felt the silk of her hair, the pressure of her mouth against him as he reached the peak. He cried out as he came, calling out her name, completely engulfed by her in this most intimate of intimacies. She clung to him, not wanting to let go, swallowing every drop that he had released into her mouth and throat. He reached for her, still out of breath, but wanting her to share in the pleasure she had just given him. "Dana...let me..."

She interrupted, sliding up his chest and pressing against him, enjoying the unusual sensuality of his naked body against her clothed one. "Please, Adam. Just hold me." He did as she asked, waiting until her breathing calmed, kissing her gently before sliding out of bed to find a shirt for her to sleep in. He undressed her tenderly, as he would a child, as she continued to tremble and shake against him. Finally, Methos took her in his arms again, and slid under the covers. He stayed awake long after Dana fell asleep, watching over her.

~~~~~~~

She didn’t go into work the next day, and he found a colleague to cover his seminar. The emotional intensity of the previous night had tired both of them, especially Dana, and they stayed home, sitting in front of the fireplace, talking quietly. She had questions, lots of them, and he tried to answer them as honestly and completely as he could.

"Does anybody know why? Has anyone done any scientific research?"

He smiled; this was one area of inquiry he had anticipated. "Research, you mean medical research to figure out why we don’t die?"

She nodded. He shrugged. "It’s only been during this century that the technology has existed to do the kind of work you mean. As far as I’m aware, some Immortal scientists have done some research, but they haven’t discovered anything conclusive or even really illuminating." He was thinking of Grace Chandel; he knew that she had quietly done some research on Immortal DNA during the 1980s, without discovering any significant differences between mortal and Immortal genes.

"You stay at the age you were at the time of your first death?"

"Yes, at that age and basic physical condition. If you’ve been scarred, for example, it won’t heal after you become Immortal."

"Don’t people notice that you don’t age." It was more a statement than a question.

"Yes." He paused. "We have to be careful how long we stay in one place, one identity."

"So eventually you’ll have to leave."

He took her hand, drew her close and looked into her eyes. "Dana, I don’t want to leave you. It might require changes in our life for us to stay together long-term, though, I won’t lie to you." He smiled. "But the nice thing about having a long time around is that I don’t mind putting my ambitions aside for someone else’s. If you get transferred to the Juneau field office, I’ll drop everything and follow you there. If you want to go work for the Mayo Clinic, I’ll go with you. If you want to chuck it all and go live in a cottage in the mountains, that’s fine with me. Where you are, Dana, I will be. For as long as you want me."

He pressed his forehead against hers. "But I’m going to get older, Adam."

"Yes, and so will I." He smiled again.

She remembered something he’d said a moment earlier. "Adam...what’s your real name?"

For the first time in a long time his true identity spilled from his lips without hesitation. "Methos. My name is Methos."

~~~~~~~

From Dana Scully’s diary:

_Suppose someone told you that you had the chance to live forever. You have perfect health and eternal youth. The price you pay is that everyone you love will die and everything you know will disappear. You will outlive it all, if you keep looking over your shoulder, because eternal life comes only with the help of your sword. You must fight and kill to stay alive. You might win the ultimate prize, too, and live forever with immeasurable power--but all of your friends are going to have to die first._

_Would I want it if it were offered? I don’t know. I’m glad I don’t have to make the choice, because I readily admit that I can’t even start to understand his life--but how can I deny that I love the man? He touches something so deep in me that I can’t deny it, or him. He is the Immortal yet I feel like I have known him for a thousand years... _

~~~~~~~

On the surface, their lives returned to the pattern they had fallen into before Methos’ revelation. If anything, their relationship was stronger now. Methos enjoyed being able to relax around someone who knew the truth about him, the ability to open himself more completely, share the memories and experiences of his past, at least to a degree. Dana’s trust in him increased as he realized just how completely he had placed his life in her hands by sharing his secret. On the surface, things were surprisingly similar. They still went to the same places and did the same things; they both preferred to spend their evenings quietly together whenever possible.

On this particular spring evening, they were traversing the short distance between the Georgetown art-house movie theater and Methos’ brownstone, still chattering about the film.

"I thought the relationship between the boy and the disc jockey was kind of sweet," Dana was saying. "The kid obviously reminded the guy of himself."

Methos nodded. "I didn’t understand the girl, though. Why would she want to have anything to do with a kid she obviously knew was a liar..." He stopped, and his voice trailed off as a trickle of Immortal presence slithered down the base of his spine. He released Dana’s arm and turned a slow revolution, but nobody was about. Nobody that he could see, anyway. _Shit..._

Dana looked at him, concerned. "Methos, what’s wrong?" she asked softly.

He took her arm again. "Maybe nothing...I sensed another Immortal, but maybe it was just someone in a car that passed by."

She hadn’t seen any cars in the past few minutes, but she nodded anyway. He started walking again, a little more hurriedly this time. They were about four blocks from his apartment, on the edge of the university campus. Dana was quiet, allowing him to lead her, sensing his concern. He stopped dead in his tracks as the sense of presence returned. Methos was sure somebody was tracking him now, and wished he could get Dana away, but to send her ahead might send her right into danger’s path. No, best to stay together and to try to reach his car. He didn’t want to lead his stalker right into his apartment.

He looked over his shoulder again, but no one was there. He left the sidewalk and they began moving across the Georgetown campus, trying to lose a tail he couldn’t see. The sense of presence continued to fade in and out. Whoever it was, they didn’t know how to track another Immortal without moving within sensing range. The thought was comforting; his stalker was either careless or inexperienced. Dana stayed beside him, unquestioning, trusting him to keep her out of harm’s way.

They had reached a sidewalk between two of the science buildings, both dark and deserted at this time of night, when the presence reasserted itself strongly. Methos turned, and for the first time saw the Immortal who had been trailing them. The light was dim, but Methos could see that the man was tall and thin with long, scraggly blond hair. Methos didn’t know him; his first thought was that he looked young.

What had been fear a few moments before now turned to anger, which grew to rage as the young punk pulled out a large, heavy broadsword and advanced towards him with a smirk on his face. With his challenger in sight, he now wanted Dana out of the way. "Dana, please go home. Walk to the street and take a cab back to my place. I’ll be there as soon as I can." His voice was calm and confident, but also cold and toneless. He was looking at the young man, not at her.

The last thing Dana wanted to do at that moment was to leave, but she knew she would only be a distraction, and possibly a danger. He had told her, and she had agreed, that if they ever encountered an unfriendly Immortal that she must do whatever he asked. She squeezed his arm once and then released it, turning to walk away.

"Pretty lady," said the Immortal. "Why don’t you ask her to stay? Maybe she and I can have some fun once you’re dead, Professor Pierson."

He pulled the Ivanhoe sword from his coat in response, his voice icy-cold. "Our games aren’t for spectators, are they...and it’s polite to introduce yourself before you challenge someone."

Dana had turned behind the one of the buildings, then stopped. She wanted to do as Methos had asked, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave. Despite his confidence, she was scared that she might never see him again. She slipped into the shadows, then turned to watch the two Immortals confront each other.

"Charles Martin." Methos had never heard of him; so either it was a new alias unknown to the Watchers, or he was very young. He tried to push back the anger that was growing inside him--anger was rarely an ally in battle. Anger led to mistakes. The blond Immortal closed the distance between them, and they began to circle each other warily.

"Mr. Martin, I’m giving you your one and only chance to walk away. Trust me. You are in way over your head."

"So to speak." Martin cackled. "Thanks for the offer, Professor--" He spit out the word. "But no thanks." With that, he lunged, and Methos jumped back, easily parrying the younger man’s blows. The kid had a lot of strength in his upper body, but he wasn’t very fast or well-trained, falling into a predictable pattern far too easily. Methos didn’t sense any true evil in this one, just recklessness, naivete, and plain stupidity, evidenced by the too-heavy sword.

Dana watched from the shadows as Methos stayed on the defensive, easily keeping his opponent outside his guard. It wasn’t long before the broadsword began to tire the younger man. Methos waited for his opportunity, and then went on the offensive, driving Martin backwards. Martin lost both his momentum and his balance, and with one swift thrust to his chest, Methos was inside his guard. He reached out with his leg to trip the hapless Immortal, and suddenly Martin found himself disarmed and on his knees. Martin looked up at Methos with a panicked expression.

Methos paused only for a moment to catch his breath, glaring mercilessly at the child kneeling in front of him. _MacLeod would let this one walk away_, said a voice inside his head. _I’m not MacLeod_, he responded angrily, and with one smooth backhanded swing, Martin’s head was severed from his neck and rolled gracelessly across the ground.

Dana watched in stunned shock as the white fog rolled away from the headless body, and the first electric pulse of the Quickening hit Methos. He threw his head back and screamed as the second shock hit, his arms flung to his sides and away from his body. The street lamp and building windows blew out in response to the incredible power, sending shards of glass everywhere. Dana ducked her head and shielded her eyes, but couldn’t pull them away from her lover. Methos fell forward on his knees, too breathless to scream and too tired to try to stay on his feet.

It ended just as quickly as it had begun, and the night settled into itself once again. She knew he would be angry that she hadn’t done as he’d asked, but she didn’t care. Dana ran to his side and kneeled down beside him, clasping onto his arm. "Methos, are you all right? Jesus..."

"Dana, dear gods, what are you doing here?" He rasped, still trying to find his breath--there were reasons that he avoided taking heads. "I told you to go home."

"I know, I’m sorry, I just couldn’t leave." She pulled him into her arms, holding him tightly, trying to still the tremors that were pulsing through him. Dana was still attempting to reconcile the wry, gentle, intellectual man she knew with the power she had just seen unleashed.

Methos shut his eyes and leaned against her, feeling her strength and allowing some of it to flow into him. _Five thousand years, and you rely on a 32 year old mortal for strength_, he thought. _Pretty impressive, old man_. At the moment, he really didn’t care. He was grateful for her presence; grateful that she was safe; grateful that the sight of the Quickening’s horrifying power hadn’t sent her running away from him forever. He was also angry--angry at Martin in particular, angry at the Game in general for intruding into his life, angry that he couldn’t promise her it would stay away from them in the future.

He pushed the thoughts away, curling into Dana’s arms and once again feeling her strength--no, not just her strength, but her love, and the special bond that connected them to each other. They would face whatever was to come with love as the basis, the knot that tied together the delicate threads that were their lives. He could only hope and pray that it would be enough.

~ the end ~

_Posted on January 3, 1998_


End file.
